Mixed Signals
by Eireish
Summary: Begins after Fall from Grace. Conversations about the situation even though Jordan is not willing to talk about it with her friends.
1. Chapter 1

**Mixed Signals**

Bathed in silent darkness she floated, gradually becoming aware of the low, sporadic rumble. How it would stop. How it would begin again. How this continued for a while before it dawned on her that the rumble was actually a voice… speaking words… that she heard but didn't quite understand, "What's going on with you, Cavanaugh?"

The familiar voice was calm, pleasant, alluring… and she was eventually able, with effort, to center her attention on the sound of the voice… that then led to the words… that finally led to him.

And in the back of her mind – well, somewhere floating around in her mind – she knew… knew that there was something not quite right with him being here… in her apartment. In fact, there was something very wrong with this… But for the life of her – the fogginess of her brain she had at first feared… and now began to anticipate… had settled in again and – she was having trouble straightening out the myriad strands of overlapping thought. Though she _knew_ there was a very good reason he should not… no, that he could not… be here now. That him being here was impossible. Jordan searched her addled mind for the proper question – the one that would clear this all up. How did he get in? No, that wasn't it. What was he doing here? No, that wasn't quite it either.

His voice managed to catch her attention again so she left the tangent reasoning of why he was here and did her best to concentrate once more on his voice… on him… to pull herself out of her quagmire of slushy thought.

"What, Cavanaugh, is going on with you?"

Focusing her vision took even greater effort than she had expended to concentrate on the sound. And as she eventually succeeded, she surmised she had been in a daze… zoned out… again. This time when her sight cleared, she found herself looking up into his eyes, twinkling merrily. He was clearly enjoying this.

And as if it wasn't bad enough trying to move through her brain's viscous swamp toward his voice… the sight of him suddenly liquefied her surroundings into a turbulent sea in which she found herself immersed along with an abundance of sundry emotions. Some of these emotions, she found, had very sharp edges, which were now battering up against her poor, befuddled mind.

Again the voice… that she needed to answer.

"JD. It's good… It's been a while… I think… if I'm not mistaken," she finally managed when she gained a semblance of control the situation and of her voice.

He watched her, his thoughts veiled from her. She could tell that her response was not one he had anticipated.

"It has, you're right," he conceded and she got the feeling he was playing along with her. "What's going on with you, Cavanaugh?"

"Nothing. I'm fine… really. I'm good." He was totally unconvinced, so she defensively threw out, "Why?"

"This is not like you – what's wrong?" The concern was evident in his voice. He watched her eyes and detected the upcoming denial, so he continued before she could voice it. "It's me you're talking to, Jordan. You have one of the quickest minds of anyone I know. And now this? What gives?" 

She shrugged in attempted nonchalance, "And now I forget things sometimes..."

"So," he repeated calmly, moving to sit beside her on the couch, "what is going on?"

Jordan watched him closely as she found herself opening up to him. She explained about the tumor and the toll it was taking on her life, confided her fears and indecision, and she realized that none of it was news to him… "You already knew all this?"

He nodded.

"Then why…?"

"You needed practice, love," he smiled at her warmly. "Now you need to tell the people in your life who care about you, the ones who will be there to help you."

Her answer was a deep sigh.

"Dr. Macy is worried about you. He wants you to have the operation."

"He's being bullheaded and conniving."

"Really? Just because he took you out of rotation… because he was no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the implications… to what could happen if…"

She waved her hand at him in surrender. "All right. I get it."

"Do you?"

She looked at him sharply.

"Dr. Macy wants to help you. And you have other friends who would be there for you _if you let them_."

She raised her eyebrows to indicate her incredulity.

"Come on, Cavanaugh… You have Bug, Nigel, Hoyt." He almost spat out the last name. "You don't make it easy. You won't answer questions straight. You block them out…"

"For their own good," she countered smoothly.

"That's your opinion. I have a feeling they'd see it differently."

"They'd feel obligated," she shrugged.

"I hardly think caring about you is an obligation. I never thought of it that way. And they'd want to do what is best for you… to be there for you."

"It would be too much," she answered.

"Au contraire… The alternative would be _more_ than too much… and they may never be able to forgive you if you don't give them a chance to at least try." He let his words sink in a bit before he continued, "You can't let your disappointment get in the way. You _know_ Hoyt's always had limitations when it comes to you."

Her eyebrows knitted down and reflected her surprise and confusion at the implication of his words.

"Yeah, I know. He said the same about me when I was…" the look on her face slowed him down. "Look, I know he's said the same about me… _that you're a complicated girl, Jordan, and not everybody gets you…_ But things are _clearer_ for me now."

"Why? How?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief.

He waved away her inquiries and continued, "Hoyt cares about you but he doesn't always know the best way to help you understand that. And he's a little afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

"You. Moving out of the comfort of being friends. Being rejected… _again_. The possibility of ruining what you have together." She remained silent and he took this as an invitation to continue. "Just out of curiosity – what is making you doubt that he cares about you?"

"Why do you want to know?" Jordan asked warily.

"For you, Cavanaugh. Not for him… you know _farm boy_ has never been one of my favorite people. _That_ hasn't changed." There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone.

"He told me I'm getting senile. He suggested writing notes and putting them in my pocket – like his grandpap."

"So he knows something is wrong. That's good."

She shrugged.

"But you're not enlightening him? Even though he's asked you several times if you're all right? Even though he's asked you if you knew you could talk to him?"

She shook her head slightly and looked at him with growing suspicion.

"Why can't you talk to him?" 

"I don't think he can listen to me. He sees me a certain way… he knows something is wrong… he says he cares… and then he gets angry when I make a mistake…"

"Rightfully so," JD pointed out abruptly.

"Agreed… he has every right to get angry… and frustrated. But, JD – I don't make those kinds of mistakes."

"Ahhh, so… You're getting mixed signals? He says he cares and then you're left to wonder why he jumped down your throat…"

"Instead of trying to figure out why. He was mad… mad as hell. But he never asked how this could happen. Through his entire rant, he never asked me how I could have made…"

"Such an un-Jordan-like mistake?" he finished for her.

She stared at him… sometimes his sagacity could be disarming. "Yeah… Why I'm not myself. Does he even notice I'm not myself?" She glanced over at him sheepishly, and then continued, "I know he cares about me…"

"But now you're wondering if he really knows you?"

"Or if he cares more about the _idea_ of me…"

"Bright, quick, witty – challenging…" JD laughed.

She nodded.

"Cavanaugh, you're not being honest with yourself. He's not only attracted to the _idea_ of you. He's spent a night in your arms – and I speak from experience here… The _idea_ of you doesn't hold a candle to the reality."

He saw the blush rise in her cheeks and reached out to rub his fingers against her face. She didn't feel anything… and a part of her mind wasn't surprised.

"Give him a chance, Jordan. Give them all a chance. After all," he glanced at her sideways, "Hoyt's not the only one conveniently overlooking evidence. Bug pulled your ringing cell phone out of your coat pocket when you failed to find it in your purse – that should have struck him as being a bit odd. And Nigel, well… he had his own rant at you for messing up the blood tests. And he didn't stop long enough to notice the tremor in your hand even though he was standing right in front of you."

She was silent… too silent. He pleaded with her, "Let them help you."

"I can take care of myself."

"That's obvious, Cavanaugh. But like I've said before… maybe it's time to let someone else take care of you a little."

"This could end up being a lot more than a little," she responded a bit petulantly. "I don't want anybody to be in that position… what if I ended up…" she turned to face him directly. "What if I ended up not being able to take care of myself? I wouldn't want anyone to feel obliged to take care of me."

"So, you'd rather risk dying." Disappointment was obvious in his voice.

"I'd rather think of it as living until I die," she defended.

"When the dying part could be unnecessary?"

"Or inevitable," she countered.

"Fatalistic much?" he chided.

She chuckled, "You always _were_ more of an optimist than I am."

The rumbling was back… louder this time. And she could tell JD sensed it as well.

He smiled at her softly. "I know we've both wondered, since that last night we were together, what it would be like… if things had played out differently."

The look on her face revealed her confusion – and he was now certain of what he had guessed by her initial greeting. She did not really understand what it meant… him being here…

Leaning closer, he kissed her gently on the forehead.

"You have to go? So soon?" Her head was hurting again and she was back to trying to straighten out jumbled thoughts, chaotic memories…

Nodding, he whispered, "But you know I loved you, Cavanaugh."

Unable to answer, she settled for a nod.

And suddenly it hit her… what the fogginess of her brain hadn't allowed her to grasp until now. Her automatic use of the past tense… His use of the past tense – and it was glaringly clear… The question wasn't how did he get in? Nor what was he doing here? The question was… how could he be here?

"JD… You're dead."

"I know," he smiled at her faintly. "But that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about you."

"Does this mean…?"

"You? Nah. You still have choices to make. And if you make the right choices, Cavanaugh, you can have a long, healthy, _happy_ life ahead of you."

"Then you're not here to…? 

"Take you to your Maker?" He laughed at her startled, wide-eyed stare. "No. Just think of me as a figment of your overactive, unrestrained imagination come to give you a bit of advice."

"That's it?" she breathed out slowly.

He smiled at her relief. "If you want it to be…" he winked at her. "If it's more comfortable for you that way."

Her head ached and there was that incessant, intermittent rumbling… growing louder and louder… and demanding her attention more and more. Coupled now with something tenderly touching her face. She reached up to brush it away and her fingers came in contact with a strong, warm hand.

When she finally won the struggle to open her eyes JD was gone… she knew he would be. And she found herself staring into the blue depths of a pair of very familiar, very concerned eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mixed Signals**

**A/N:** Takes place during _Sleeping Beauty._

**Chapter 2: **

Tuesday, 3:26 am

The reflexive jolt of his body wrenched him back to consciousness. His heart pounding heavily in his chest, his breathing ragged, he was instantly relieved to be woken from his tormented sleep. Jordan had turned away from him… in the dream he had just been yanked from… and she had been preparing to walk away… one more time. Having watched her walk away so many times before, his heart just couldn't take it _one more time_. So, as tired as he was… he was grateful to wake up and find it had only been a _very bad dream_.

Leaning back heavily in her chair he tried to will his exhausted body to relax, his heart rate to slow, his breathing to ease. There was no reason to be on edge – he cajoled himself – remembering that uniformed officers were watching the morgue tonight, monitoring Jordan's office. And in Jordan's office was where he sat – so he could keep an eye on Tracy… or so he told himself.

"Why the morgue?" He hadn't answered that question earlier when Tracy had asked him. And, "Why this office? The office of a friend?" He wouldn't try to answer any of those questions now… he wasn't certain that he could.

All he was certain of was that right now, with his world balancing precariously on a surgical table a few miles away, he wanted to feel close to _her_. He needed to bask in the undeniable proof of her life… to wallow in the sublime expectation that her undiminished vitality would continue. And this was the place for him to do it.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to go home. He hadn't been able to follow Bug and Nigel to the hospital, either – even though he had told Nigel earlier that they could ride together... he found he couldn't go there after all. He knew he wouldn't be able to feel Jordan in the impersonal waiting room of the antiseptic hospital… but he could sense her all around him here as he sat at _her_ desk in _her_ office…

Looking across her workspace as she did almost daily… her co-workers… her _family_ (he corrected himself)… staring at him from the picture frame. It wasn't difficult to conjure up the sound of Dr. Macy's voice threatening to chain her to her desk until she got caught up on paperwork. Or the feeling of her small hand slipping into his as she pulled him conspiratorially into the hall and toward the elevator, choosing those moments of impending imprisonment to make their escape for lunch.

Picking up her snow globe… turning it upside down to send the white flakes gently swirling. He remembered… the trip to Littleton Village… the Lucy Carver Inn. Two of the most important, and enjoyable, nights of his life – being snowed in with her. Their emotional synergy rejuvenated, they had made their first – and so far only – physical attempt at fulfilling their longing… at least his longing… to be something more than "just friends."

Being rewarded with an occasional ever-so-subtle whiff of her perfume. He had read once that olfactory memories can be among the strongest… clearest… and if he closed his eyes…

"Hey, man, what are you doing here?" Her voice cut through his reverie and he looked up to watch Jordan Cavanaugh saunter into her office.

"I could ask you the same thing." Woody couldn't help but smile back at her.

"You could… but…"

"What's going on, Jo?"

"Things haven't been going so well. I needed to get out of there for a while."

"On the… you mean the…surgery?" Slammed by the possible meaning of what she was telling him, he searched for words and found himself unable to form an articulate sentence, unwilling to follow a coherent thought.

"Yeah," she nodded in confirmation, "there's been a lot of blood. It was easy to slip away."

Her words sent cold chills through his body and heaviness settled into his gut. "But… you're not going to… to…?"

The shrug of her shoulders was nonchalant, "Too soon to tell."

Icy fingers ran up and down his spine eliciting a sickening sense of fear. Not that he hadn't been trying to cope with near-paralyzing dread for the past few days…

… _when he told Kate that he knew he'd be busy all day, he didn't need to rush back to see Jordan before she left for surgery. Because he had sent something. The good doctor's response of, "How thoughtful," sent him reeling mentally. But he recovered quickly, if not completely, and made his best attempt to return his undivided attention to the case at hand…_

… _when he had handed Tracy the box of tissue that was sitting on top of the card on the conference room table. Carefully penned well wishes emanated from the huge, cardboard missive. And a sense of foreboding had flooded his mind. He felt alone, helpless… so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He pushed the disconcerting thoughts away, focused on the task before him, and continued on with his day from hell…_

… _when D.A. Wolcott had presumptively and accurately observed that his efforts were not only about keeping Tracy safe – but also about saving Jordan. Why was it that nobody believed him when he told them… loud and long… that he and Jordan are just friends…_

… _when Tracy questioned, "How can a person be there. And then all of a sudden they're gone. It doesn't make any sense, ya' know?" Those words were once again reverberating through his murky brain and commingling with her unsolicited declaration, "Just because you want something to be so… doesn't make it so." That had been Jordan's response the previous week when he told her she was going to be okay… "Just because we want something to be true doesn't mean… you know." And then she told him she wasn't afraid to die._

The brutal honesty of Jordan's words were too much… he needed to change the subject… something safe, "The flowers I sent were on the desk… I put them in water."

"I didn't know they were from you." It was said under her breath and then she looked up at him, "They're… nice."

"But…"

"Flowers are what you bring when someone dies."

"You're not. Going. To Die. Jor-." His voice cracked as he spoke her name so he tried again, "Jordan."

"Promise?" She said in little more than a whisper.

"The flowers will be in the room… when you wake up. You'll see."

Uncertainty flashed briefly in her eyes before she nodded.

"I should have been there, Jordan… before you left for surgery… but…" Suddenly it was important to him for her to understand.

She gazed at him intently. "You couldn't. I know." The surprise registered in his eyes as she continued, "And it's okay."

"Nobody understands. I… they… they think I don't care."

"But I understand. And we both know… it is easier… better… this way."

"Not 'easier,' Jordan. Nothing… nothing about this is _easy_," he shook his head forcefully.

"I know. I've done what you're doing now… waiting… remember?"

He felt like he had been slapped in the face and he turned away from her, "I remember. I… I'm sorry… If I could take it back…"

"But you can't. What's done is… done. We can't go back there… we've been through so much since… Besides, all of that got us here."

"And where exactly is 'here'?" His timbre was so forlorn, defeated.

"You're… you're… my best friend, Woody. I've never been as close to anyone." When he turned to face her she could read surprise and doubt in his countenance. "You didn't know that?"

The shake of his head was dismissive and his response blunt, "You have lots of friends, Jordan. And 'best friends'? Pollack. Dr. Macy."

He noted her deep intake of breath and waited. "J.D., Woody, was never my friend." She wagged her eyebrows at him suggestively, teasingly. Knowing full well she was pushing his buttons, and fully intending to do so. Then she continued softly, "He was my lover. A great guy in a lot of ways. But we were never on the same page…" she shrugged, "You know that."

A faint smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, "Garret… Garret is my 'bestest girlfriend'," she acknowledged. "He's like the older brother James could never be. He worries about me and does his best to keep me out of trouble."

Her grin was now disarming, "But you, Woodrow, are the best of both of those worlds." Her sultry tone was so low now he had to strain to hear. "Besides, you're more fun."

"You told Dr. Macy. You confided in him." The detective in him refused to be derailed… or maybe there were things he needed to understand.

"He figured it out, he pushed."

Woody winced. Pushing had never, never worked with him in his relationship with her. "Then I wasn't paying enough attention," he derided.

"Really? 'Cause I thought you had figured a lot of it out. You've never asked if I was okay so many times in the span of a week before." She chuckled lowly.

"But I was so frustrated with you. The mistakes you were making were," he blew out a exasperated breath, "so unlike you."

"And it was disappointing that your response was anger and irritation. I understood your anger. But I didn't understand…"

"I was so frightened, Jordan. You were just not yourself… I didn't know what that meant – but the thought of you not being… you… scared the hell out of me. And you refused to talk to me."

"I didn't need to talk to you. We… we don't need… words. When have we ever really needed words?"

His brows knitted in consternation. "But, Dr. Macy, he was able to help you… figure out what to do."

"We're both doctors. I knew what could be done, but it helped to have a second opinion."

"He really cares about you. He loves you," Woody pointed out, watching carefully to measure her reaction.

"I know."

"Nigel, Bug…" he pressed.

"I know."

"They all… we all want you to…"

"They want me to live… I know. And I told _you_, I don't want to be a vegetable."

He'd known what she meant when she first told him this… all too well. And he wished he had trusted her when he had felt the same way… when he was lying in the hospital afraid he wouldn't walk again. When he had pulled the pity card. But he hadn't confided in her… he'd pushed her away – and that was their history.

"We all want you to live, Jordan."

Her smile was sweet, "No, they want me to live, Woody. Not you…"

The shock he felt at her words made his head spin, "Jordan?"

"You understand. You want _me… _to _stay alive_."

And she was right, he realized. He wanted more than for her to live. He wanted… needed… her – his feisty, demanding, infuriating, sexy best friend to stay feisty, and demanding, and infuriating, and sexy. Not as much for himself – as for her.

Jordan's next words came as a sucker punch, "If this doesn't work… well, I just want to say thanks."

"It's going to work!" His wide-eyed stare reminded her of a caged animal. "It has to work!"

"But if it doesn't… thank you."

"What are you thanking me for, Jordan?"

"Believing… last week. Knowing what I needed. Taking the chance. Sticking your neck out – again."

"It was all I could do," he replied, his eyes beginning to sting.

He had known what she needed when he took her with him into the wilderness on the faintest possibility that the teacher, Grace, really was alive. Jordan needed a miracle. She needed her faith restored. Because she had given up.

And he needed to give it back to her – hope… and faith… that there are miracles everyday… and that miraculous things happen unnoticed all around them.

He never considered failure and he didn't have time to be afraid… because he was too afraid he didn't have time.

"I made Garret promise that if things go south on that table… and I can't finish it… that he'll finish it for me."

Woody nodded in acknowledgement, his throat too tight to speak.

"If that happens, he'll need your support – even if he won't ask for it."

Before what she was saying could fully sink in, she rushed on, "Don't let them pressure you into going down there to sit in that waiting room."

"Maybe it's where I should be," he moaned.

"Why? So you can wear a hole in the floor covering in the pattern of your pacing – llike Garret? He's doing better now… now that he found the surgery observation room. But you don't want to watch my surgery… you still turn green when I poke around in stomach contents.

Or maybe you'd rather sit helplessly like Bug?

No, no… more likely you'd drive yourself crazy like Nigel… he won't last long there. He'll have to leave – he has to be _doing_ something… like you." Her voice softened as she continued, "This is where you belong. This is where I knew I'd find you."

"You did? How'd you…?" 

It was a lopsided smirk she gave him. "You just take care of her," she pointed to Tracy who was sleeping fitfully on the couch in front of them. "Keep her safe, Woody. Her dad's worried about her and…"

He groaned, "I'm trying. I am. But there's no evidence, Jordan. I can't just…"

That look was on her face. The look he desired, the look he dreaded. It was the look that almost always got _them_ in trouble… It was also the look that usually resulted in a solved case… one that probably would not have been solved without her somewhat creative intervention. With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she shrugged, "When has that ever stopped us before?"

When she began to turn away a sense of panic formed in his chest and quickly spread. He fought to gain control of his voice. "Don't go!" he blurted.

Her ethereal smile gave him no comfort whatsoever. "I have to… I have to get back…"

"No!" he snapped his head emphatically from side to side.

When her smile became indulgent, his alarm became almost palpable. "No!" he repeated. "Don't go!" It came out as a command, not a plea. He forced himself to push on, "You have to fight this, Jordan. I need…" he took a slow, deep, unsteady breath. "I don't know what we can be… if anything. But I need to find out. Please, please don't go."

He sensed her moving closer to him and warmth spread through his body as she lightly pressed her lips to his. When she pulled back she whispered, "All right, Farm Boy. I'll fight this… I guess I owe you at least that much."

"Jordan," he croaked, struggling to control his voice.

The impish twinkle in her eyes made him smile, "Yeah, Woods?"

"I… I love you."

"I know," she breathed, "and I love you."

He raised his open hands to swipe away the tears he could feel welling in his eyes and coursing down his cheeks; the brusque movement jolted him awake. Owlishly peering around her darkened office, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her. But he knew he wouldn't.

He was startled when Tracy's voice dispelled the silence, "Are you all right, detective?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "Sorry to wake you."

Tracy was now sitting up on the couch watching him. "Are you sure… you're all right?"

"It was a dream," he smiled into the darkness.

The potent odor of Jordan's perfume hung on the still air.

"Just a dream."


	3. Chapter 3

**Mixed Signals**

**A/N:** Takes place toward the end of Sleeping Beauty.

**Chapter 3:**

Tuesday, 8:47 pm

He relaxed his lanky body into the small couch against the wall of Jordan's hospital room. He was exhausted in every way possible… physically, mentally, emotionally… But he felt like he could relax a little now… and wait… as long as it took for her to open her eyes… all patched up and good as new.

Woody had finally decided to grace them with his presence – and it was his turn to keep watch, lose a little sleep, feel a bit of the anxiety he and Dr. Macy and Bug had been living with these past two days. He stifled a yawn and allowed his eyes to slip closed… for just the briefest moment…

_Woody's rested… at least he got some sleep last night… after he watched that show on the tele… the one about those super heroes. Woody can take a turn… watching over Jordan… with Evander… _

The movement on the other side of the room, the side where Woody sat, caught his attention. He finally was able to focus on the form standing beside Evander's bowl next to Jordan's bed. The blonde was studying him now as he studied her.

"Detective Simmons?"

He watched her roll her eyes, "I thought we were past that, Nigel. Lu… call me Lu."

"Lu… I must say it is nice to see you."

"And the formality? Could we lose it? Please?"

Nigel nodded in agreement, unable to take his eyes off her. "You look… good."

She smiled at him sweetly, "Good?"

"Well, you do look better than the last time I saw you."

This earned him a chuckle, "Especially since the last time you saw me I was on a slab in the morgue."

"There is that…" he agreed. "So, to what do I owe this… unexpected… apparition?"

Nigel noted the quick, slight shake of her head – a familiar gesture… that he had always taken to mean she was getting down to business.

It was imperative, she decided, to make sure they were both on the same page – right up front. Otherwise, with Nigel… who knew what this could become. "You know that you're _asleep_… right?"

"Am I?" he groused.

"Yes. And that's all this is."

Realizing that her wait for his reply would prove fruitless, after a brief silence she continued. "You've had a busy few days… with no time to process anything. So your mind is taking a respite – and I'm here to help." She watched him closely and felt the need to emphasize, "_You're asleep._"

"Yeah, yeah. I got that, luv. Overly tired mind, exceedingly active imagination. I'm exhausted and my psyche is working things out while I sleep. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes. Precisely. I don't want any… _misunderstanding_ of exactly what this is." She moved across the room toward him and sat on the couch at his feet.

"Okay, but what I can't figure out is… why? And, why you? Do you often hang out in the hospital rooms of your former boyfriend's ex-girl-"

"Ex-something," Lu supplied for him.

"What?"

"She's his ex-something. She was his ex-almost-something… but…"

"Things progressed?"

"I guess you could say that."

Nigel wordlessly tilted his head in her direction. Lu rolled her eyes at him and answered his unspoken question, "_She_ told me."

"Oh. Well." He was a bit disappointed there would be no juicy details. Not if Jordan had told her... Jordan's personal stories were always quite spare of interesting… ummm… particulars. He returned reluctantly to his original question. "Do you? Make a habit of hanging out…"

"I'm not here, Nigel. I'm just a figment of your overly active, paranormally fascinated imagination. We've already agreed to that."

"Right, luv." He sounded genuinely disappointed.

"All right, don't believe me… but… you'll see. I won't tell you anything you don't already know – deep down."

Though he could tell by her tone that he was exasperating his dream, he was relentless, "Why you? You made it bloody hard on us when we were trying to clear Jordan of her Aussie beau's murder."

"Sorry about that… but… it _was_ my job."

"It was more than that and we both know it. You were out for blood." Nigel's stare cut into her. "Her blood," he motioned toward the form of his unconscious friend in the hospital bed. "His blood," he motioned toward the dazed detective sitting attentively at Jordan's side.

"There _was_ a lot to that… situation… really." Lu's look was sheepish.

Nigel raised his hand in dismissal, "I know, I know… spurned lover – and all that. But you wouldn't listen to reason. And she didn't deserve..."

"I am sorry about… everything. And she knows that. She was there…" His comely specter stopped in mid sentence and took what appeared to be a deep, calming breath. "We," Lu continued, motioning between her and Jordan, "got past it. She was my friend... in the end anyway."

"Right, then. She was with you when you…"

"Died. Right. She was," Lu affirmed.

"Then… this isn't about Jordan?"

He watched her shake her head, "I wouldn't presume to tell you anything about Jordan."

"So… why are you here? What is this about?" he asked suspiciously.

"I owe him," she nodded toward the wired homicide detective who was watching Jordan diligently through Evander's bowl.

"Let me get this straight… this is about him?" Nigel hitched his outstretched thumb in Woody's direction in an exaggerated motion.

Lu nodded. "You were pretty upset with him earlier, and I thought you might want to know…"

"I was tired. I'd been up all night with Bug and Dr. M. Then all but one fish was dead…"

"And Woody chose that moment, looking at a single, surviving, fighting fish to ask about Jordan?"

"Yeah." Nigel stopped briefly to grapple with the previously missed – or dismissed – symbolism in that memory. The image Lu had just offered – of Evander, the fighter, the survivor – synching with Woody's question about Jordan who was fighting for her life. _How is she?_

"Well, he'd had a good night's sleep. He wasn't living the hell we were dealing with." Lu didn't miss the defensiveness of his tone.

"Really? Because I could have sworn those were, those _are_, the same clothes he was wearing the day before." Nigel followed her gaze toward Woody. "Do you know where he spent the night of Jordan's surgery?"

"At home watching the tele," came Nigel's petulant reply.

"In Jordan's office," Lu corrected. "Turning that snow globe over, and over, and over."

"Ahhh ha! I didn't know that. See… I didn't have any way of knowing that. But you…" His tone was triumphant.

Lu shook her head and cut off his enthusiastic outburst, "Yes, _you did_. Look, like you said – you're tired. Think back. Who was in the halls of the morgue last night?"

"BPD," he remembered.

"There. You saw the uniformed officers hanging around. You noticed… you just didn't take the time to find out why. And you walked past Jordan's office. You saw Woody in there… when you came to get the fish… it just didn't register. Until now."

"Oh-Kay… Right. He was in her office. So what? You've come to Jordan's hospital room to… what? Defend Woody?"

"To help you understand Woody a little better," she offered.

"Oh, I understand him well enough."

"You do? Would you care to share?" Lu slipped effortlessly into the detached tone of her psychologist self.

"It's simple, really… he's pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get. He's good at his job and works hard. He cares about people… coming from his Norman Rockwell childhood and those homegrown mid-western values instilled in his Boy Scout soul. He can, at times, be a bit ignorant – which comes out as intolerance. And, on occasion, he's been a little naive. He loves Jordan – as we all do – and that both fulfills him and scares the hell out of him."

"That's a good description," Lu smiled at him and Nigel gave her a self-satisfied grin… until she continued, "for someone who doesn't know Woody Hoyt at all."

"Come now, luv, I know Woodrow. I've known him for… years."

"Then you know his mother died of cancer when he was four years old? And his father was a sheriff… who was shot in the back during the robbery of a gas station when Woody was sixteen."

"I had no idea," Nigel responded, stymied.

"Not very… how did you put it? Norman Rockwell?"

"Yeah, right. Did his dad…?" 

"Died in Woody's arms in the hospital two days later."

"Poor bloke. That explains… a lot." Nigel observed.

Lu nodded. "His insecurity, the need to be accepted… always seeking attention, love, approval…"

"Woody must really hate hospitals." Nigel empathized simply, interrupting Lu's litany. "No wonder he didn't want to spend time in the waiting room."

The wind taken out of her rant, Lu shrugged her shoulders, "I'd imagine."

"That means he was an orphan before he even graduated from high school. And Cal…"

"Calvin? His younger brother?" Nigel had to smile at the surprise in Lu's voice. "You know him?"

"Yeah, met him… he was a volunteer when we were pulling bodies out of a mafia dump site. He was a real kick."

"And an addict. They're not in touch anymore."

"You mean – his only living immediate family member…?" Lu confirmed with a nod. "That's… tough."

"So… why do you think you were so short with Woody last night?" Lu guided the conversation.

"Now this is about me?" Nigel laughed.

"It just seemed a bit out of character… for you. Who you are…"

"Who I am?"

She ignored his interruption and hurried on, "I've learned more about accepting _diversity_… now that I see things a little… differently."

"You mean being dead and all."

"Yeah," she smiled at him. "But you… I thought you'd have a better understanding of Woody."

"Why?" he inquired cautiously.

"Because of who you are… the eternal optimist."

Nigel looked at her sideways, "It was frustration… fear. That's what came out."

"Perhaps the lack of patience comes from this being about Jordan?"

"It's hard… you know. She's not usually… vulnerable."

"And you were angry because you thought Woody didn't care? Or because he didn't seem to be upset enough?"

Nigel shrugged wordlessly.

"Woody is…"

"Doing the best he can?" Nigel finished for her.

Lu nodded, "A lot goes on inside Woody that he doesn't share. He's really very hard on himself. And he's as good at hiding it as Jordan ever was – he just makes it look so much more effortless."

"Do tell." Nigel hated to admit it, but he had actually reexamined some of his attitude as a result of this _visit_.

"He really loves Jordan. I realized… way too late for us… that he would do anything for her. But he fights it. He doesn't always want to be that guy. Feel like he's at her beck and call."

Nigel snorted, "She doesn't require that."

"Woody doesn't realize that yet… he's still learning."

"She needs someone who can love her and let her be who she is… and not be let down every time she's inconsistent. Those things are a part of who she is… a part of life – _if_ you're not living in a black and white world. And Jordan's world has never been black and white. Having been raised by someone with a mental illness… her world has to have been quite colorful from an early age."

He noticed the surprise reflected on Lu's face, "I had no idea."

"About what?"

"Her mother?"

Nigel nodded, "Her parents did the best they knew how, I suppose. But their 'best' was sometimes lacking."

A low, rumbling sound had begun at some point and was becoming increasingly pronounced.

"I'd better be going. Jordan is waking up."

"And how do _I_ know that?" Nigel teased.

"Just go with it Nigel," she chuckled. "I'm not doing any more explaining tonight."

"Just one last thing…" She turned to face him in response to his words. "Are you really maintaining that you… being here with me… is all about Woodrow? That _you liking me_ has nothing to do with this?"

Again she rolled her eyes, "I never said that."

"I knew it… _I knew_ you were sweet on me the moment you came out with that bit about the opossum's teeth."

"All right. I admit it." Lu laughed. "But I really have to be going. You're going to want to wake up soon."

"But you'll be back?"

Lu looked at him with a bemused expression. "Yeah. If you want me to…"

"Indeed," Nigel smirked at her. "Drop by any time."

"I'll take that as an invitation." she smiled.

"Please do, luv…"

Lu was gone before he finished. She just – _left_… she was just – _gone_. No popping noise like in the Harry Potter books when people apparate. No moaning or clanking of chains like one would expect of any tradition-honoring, respectable ghost. No chills up and down his spine or hair standing up on his arms to indicate paranormal energy movement.

_Maybe,_ he began to entertain seriously for the first time,_ what Lu told me was true. Maybe she was just a dream concocted by my tired body – by my overly active imagination – by my… how did she put it? Supernaturally enamored… mystically captivated… no, it was… paranormally fascinated… mind._

_Nah. _He quickly dismissed such unreasonable thought. _There's more to this than she's letting on. But as she said, she'll be back… And next time – I'll be ready…_

The soft murmur of voices guided him from his dream to consciousness. When he opened his eyes, Woody was standing next to Jordan – and they were talking softly. With relief washing over him, he remained motionless where he lay and strained to hear their conversation.

It was just like her, he thought – she wanted to know who was there… with them… in the room. Woody enumerated – pointing in the direction of each occupant as he named them – Dr. Macy… Nigel… Bug… Evander.

That was when Nigel's first noticed the chills – like icy fingers running up and down his spine. And he became aware of the goose bumps at the same time he realized the hair on his arms was standing on end…

Jordan's voice was raspy – and he couldn't make out what she was saying. He watched the color drain from Woody's face as the detective gently shook his head. Woody's lips moved, but Nigel could not hear what he was telling her.

Jordan slowly twisted her neck so that she was able to look in Nigel's direction. "Where's Lu?" she croaked. "I thought I heard…"

Nigel extricated himself from the lumpy couch and made his way across the room to stand next to Jordan's bed. He reached out to hold her hand.

"I thought I heard Lu," she whispered, beseechingly searching Nigel's eyes.

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Should I wake Dr. Macy?" Woody interrupted, the fear and concern saturating his tone.

"Why?" Nigel inquired sincerely, glancing across Jordan's bed at his nervous friend.

"She's… isn't she… hallucinating?"

Nigel's slight smile broadened as he gazed down at Jordan. "No, mate. I don't think she is."


	4. Chapter 4

**Mixed Signals**

**A/N: **Takes place after _Sleeping Beauty._

**Chapter 3:**

It was the end of a long day, at the end of a long week, at the end of a long month – and Kate Switzer was exhausted. Making her way into her office, she slumped back into the waiting comfort of her couch.

The work was piling up, the guys were on Jordan rotation, and she was the only one consistently there – at the front lines – to take care of _everything_. And as if that wasn't enough, she was constantly tripping over Hoyt – he was more needy than ever.

She found herself anxious for Jordan's return for so many reasons. Not only did she wish for Jordan's speedy recovery… because it was the right thing to do. She selfishly hoped that when Jordan returned, Detective Hoyt would once again be out of her hair – Jordan being his ME… and other things, if she wasn't mistaken… of preference.

At least things in general were getting a little more bearable. Though Bug and Hoyt were still under the impression that she was heartless – an illusion she did nothing to dispel – she was having a harder time keeping the armor in place around Nigel. Working with him wasn't so bad… usually. And Dr. Macy no longer seemed to be monitoring her every move. So things were a tad more bearable.

Kate heard rustling and looked over at her desk. The young woman sitting in her chair – and rummaging through her desk drawers – was a pretty, petite, blonde who… realizing she was being watched… looked up to stare back at her.

"Excuse me," Kate began in her usual, acerbic tone. "Exactly what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh. Well. You're excused," came the cloying reply. "And I'm looking for something I thought I left in here." The blonde's cadence was as perky as her appearance.

"That's my desk you're rummaging through."

"Really?" The blonde was obviously unconcerned. "It used to be mine. And I was sure I left…"

"Do you mind?" Kate's tone was as cutting and condescending as she could muster in her exhausted state.

"Not at all," the woman sitting at the desk replied, returning her attention to her search.

"You are a dense one," the ME huffed. "Now close my desk drawers," she ordered sharply.

The unaffected blonde looked up at her indulgently. "I know a lot of people around here thought I was pushy," she offered coolly. "But you're just plain rude."

Kate, working to maintain her aloof demeanor, bit out through clenched teeth, "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry… talk about rude." The blonde's voice sounded genuinely contrite now. "I'm Devan. Maguire. I'm an ME."

Kate's suspicion was growing. "And this was your desk? Why haven't I met you before?"

Devan shrugged her shoulders, "How should I know?"

"Well… how long have you worked here?" Kate pressed.

"It's been a while," the younger woman answered evasively. "Not quite as long as Peter, I guess."

Kate quickly went over in her mind what she could remember about the chronology of morgue employment history… Bug… Nigel… Jordan… Peter… "As long as Sydney?"

"Oh, New Guy – yeah, I came to work here before he did."

"What did you call Sydney?"

"New Guy – it drives him crazy."

"Fascinating," Kate responded tersely, adding, "I haven't worked with him much."

"But you've worked with Nigel quite a bit," Devan smirked. "You're awfully hard on him."

"I am not," came the caustic reply.

"I've seen it. I used to give him a hard time too. I tried to keep him afraid of me – thought it would make him more … responsive. He never could say 'no' to me." Devan sighed, "I realized too late – it wasn't necessary. He would help me out no matter what – that's his nature."

"Eternal optimist," Kate droned.

"You've noticed that too," was the way too bubbly response.

Kate shook her head. "What is it that you're looking for?"

"It's an extra key. I put it in here and I have to find it… I need to give it back to..."

"An extra key? To what?"

"You are nosy, aren't you?" Devan observed. "I can identify with that."

"Well?"

"To a friend's apartment. I took it the last time I was over there – and I've felt guilty ever since. I need to give it back to him – even though I'm sure he's missed it by now."

"A friend, huh?"

"Yes, friend. I thought about trying to take it to the next level – thus the lifted key – but… well, things happened."

"You were playing games with him?"

"I guess you could say that," was Devan's demure reply.

"So now, what? You've tired of the game? Or did it backfire?"

"Neither, really. I just…"

"Now you just need to find the key so you can give it back to him?" Kate chuckled mockingly.

"No. So you can give it back to him," Devan informed her.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"As a favor to a fellow ME?"

Kate smiled. The repartee with this feisty blonde was refreshing. The atmosphere around here had been so… morgue-like… lately, and the discussion of something as inane as a misplaced key was almost comforting. "Once you find this key, to whom do I need to return it?"

"Woody Hoyt."

Kate's eyes widened. "Detective Hoyt?"

"Ah, hah!" came the triumphant cry. Devan pulled the key out of the very back of the top drawer. "Yes, Detective Woody Hoyt."

"You are his…?"

"I was his friend. Like I said… I was working on more… I think. But between an ex-fiancée I couldn't quite shake…"

"You had designs on Detective Hoyt?" Kate interjected incredulously.

"More than he realized," Devan sighed.

"I thought Jordan and Woody…"

"He had feelings for Jordan… I knew that – despite what he said. I'm not sure we ever could have been more but…"

"But you tried."

"I did. And you can't blame a girl for trying – right?"

Kate laughed.

"Woody and Jordan… they were friends then. That's what he _said_. They had flirted with more but it didn't work out… and they were back to being friends."

"Still are," Kate mumbled.

"What a shame." Devan shook her head. "Anyway, that's why I need you to give this back to Woody," she said brightly. "I have a feeling he has a _sugarcoated_ image of me in his memory – because of everything that happened. I think it's time he knew the truth. About me. About what I was capable of and…"

"Your less than honorable intentions?"

Devan gave Kate a small smile and a shrug of the shoulders.

This was bordering on more information than she cared to be privy to, so Kate blatantly changed the subject. "So where's your new office?"

Devan's look was uncomprehending so Kate tried again, "Where do they have you sitting now? Where's your new desk?"

"I don't have one. I don't really work here any longer." The answer seemed reluctantly given.

"And why did you leave? I mean – you seem to be _fond_ of all these people."

Devan studied her for a minute and decided Kate wasn't kidding. "I died," she replied matter-of-factly.

"No. I mean really," Kate chuckled.

"Really," Devan smiled at her sweetly. "Airplane crash."

Kate just stared at her, totally unbelieving.

Devan exhaled audibly, rose from the chair, and walked toward the couch. "Anyway, I have to be going… If you wouldn't mind, would you give this back to Woody," she asked, pressing the key into Kate's palm.

"And what precisely do you want me to say to him?"

"Say? Oh… well… Just tell him you found it at the back of a drawer of Devan's old desk. That should work," she responded cheerfully.

"And how would I know that this insignificant, unmarked key belongs to him?" Kate complained skeptically.

Devan flipped her hair and laughed, "I know you'll think of something."

Kate stared at her in disbelief.

"Look, I know you're not big on advice…" Devan began.

Kate snorted.

" – but I'm going to offer it anyway."

"And why would you do that?" came Kate's droll reply.

"Call it hindsight… call it regret… call it professional courtesy… call it whatever you want. Just – take it easy on these people. They have… history… together. But they won't exclude you."

Kate stared at her.

"They are a bit… odd," Devan conceded.

"You're not kidding."

"But they all mean well – and, in the end, they make terrific friends… if you let them." Her voice was now a bit melancholy.

When Kate didn't answer, Devan kept talking, "Well, take it or leave it. I know you will. I just thought I'd let you in on my experience... maybe keep you from making some of the same mistakes."

Devan turned and moved toward the office door. "Like I said, I have to be going. But, maybe I'll see you around?"

Kate leaned her head back into the couch and closed her eyes briefly. "I can hardly wait," she groaned.

The answer to her sarcastic aside was silence and when she opened her eyes, Devan was gone… and she hadn't heard the door open or close. _I'm more tired than I realized._

XXXXXXXXX

Kate stepped out of her office and made her way down the hall toward Autopsy. She was certain she'd seen Woody heading that way earlier, though she wasn't at all certain how she was going to explain the key… In fact, she wasn't even sure if _anything_ Devan Maguire had told her was true.

Sydney stepped out of Trace and smiled at her. "Hello, Dr. Switzer," he greeted.

"Hi… New Guy," she replied absent mindedly as she stepped past him. She didn't miss Sydney's double take.

_Maybe… just maybe... Nah! _Kate found herself thinking. _But it wouldn't hurt to ask a few questions about… say… one Devan Maguire._


End file.
